With the strength of a raging fire
by Kat-Knife
Summary: Neville Longbottom could be said to be an average wizard at best. He was no Hermione Granger or Harry Potter, or even, Ron Weasley. Many people wondered why he had been put in Gryffindor, for they didn't believe him to have the defining quality, bravery. This is the story of Neville, a true Gryffindor. Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, round 2.


_"With all the strength_

_of a raging fire"_

Mulan, I'll make a man out of you

* * *

"Come on, you can do better than that!" Encouraged the voice of one commanding general of Dumbledore's Army, Neville Longbottom, "Put more power in your spell, Hannah. It's more of a flick at the end, so make sure to bend your wrist, Seamus."

He paced around the Room of Requirement, fixing a hand movement here, adding a flick of the wrist there, doing his best to encourage the handful of weary individuals in the room. There were perhaps twelve of them total in this room, ranging from third year to seventh year. All of them battle worn with scars to match, their faces appearing dirty and pale in the dim lighting. All of them gripping their wands tightly in their hands, a steely determination that could not be quenched, raging in their eyes. There was Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Hannah, from his year. Ginny, and some of her friends from her year, and a few other students from fifth, fourth, and third year. The houses had no meaning for them here. They came from every one of the four houses, even Slytherin. There was one tiny third year, Isobel, whose parents had been killed by Lord Voldemort for failing a mission. She had joined the DA for them, to serve as a reminder for the evil that festered in the halls of Hogwarts. The previous members of Dumbledore's Army, the ones that hadn't been pulled out of school by their parents, had convened to keep the group going following the invasion of their beloved school. They were doing what they could do to protect their home away from home.

He stepped back, crossed his arms and looked at them with shining eyes, his heart swelling with contentment. His mind wandered as he thought back to how this had happened, how he had come here.

Neville Longbottom could be said to be an average wizard at best. He was no Hermione Granger or Harry Potter, or even, Ron Weasley. He was not brave, perhaps rash, but not brave, never brave. He fumbled his way through school, barely managing to scrape Acceptables from his classes, except for Herbology, but he didn't consider it to be a true magical class, anyone could manage plants. All through his life, he had bumbled his way through obstacles, frequently falling, or in his case, tripping over his shoelaces, but this year had changed it all. His seventh year at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had changed him, forged him into the man he never knew or thought he could be.

Harry, along with his best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, had left to go on a harebrained adventure to save the magical world as they knew it, and by some chance of fate or misfortune, the mantle of responsibility had fallen to Neville. He was the new leader of Dumbledore's Army, along with Ginny Weasley. He led raids against the monsters that had invaded his school, almost always managing to get away in the nick of time, suffering a few bruises and cuts, but always prevailing.

The younger students at school looked up to him, viewing him as the hero of Gryffindor, their personal Guardian Angel, the one who was always there with a kind word, a soft smile. He, the one who had once been ridiculed and mocked for his confidence issues and clumsy nature, was now the leader of an army consisting of the people that had once laughed at him but now looked up to him as a leader, a friend, a living legend for doing what he was doing. Neville knew about their admiration, even he wasn't blind to the adoring gazes he received in the halls, but he was rather baffled by it all. He wasn't a hero or something kin to "The Boy-who-lived". He was just Neville Longbottom, the one and only fool extraordinaire. He was just fighting for what he believed in, his parents, his grandmother, his friends, Dumbledore...

He wryly thought in amazement at what determination and a will to survive could do. He remembered with clenched teeth of the event that changed everything. Unnoticed by everyone, a solitary tear swept across his grimy face and fell to the floor. As the tear hit the floor, he remembered the promise he had made to them just before they both succumbed to their injuries. He had sat on the floor of St. Mungo's, drenched in their blood, tears falling unimpeded from his eyes, mixing with their mangled and broken bodies. He had sobbed unrepentantly for the life he could have had, for the life he never had. He had promised them then and there that he would avenge them, avenge their untimely deaths. A promise he would keep with his dying breath if he had to. He remembered the day he had tried and failed for the last time and became something different from the floundering boy in school. The boy who no one knew why had been put in Gryffindor. He had proved them all wrong. He had proved himself wrong, for he was strong. He possessed a quiet strength that would aid him in his victory, in their victory.

Neville slowly shook himself out of his melancholy thoughts and beamed a proud smile, "That's it, you got it Hannah!"

He watched, transfixed as Hannah's patronus, a dove, took flight, gliding its way through the crowd of students, who all stopped to watch the beautiful animal. The dove stopped to perch on the edge of Neville's shoulder, illuminating him in a silvery light, unknown to him, creating an illusion of a halo of light on his head, filling him with a sense of happiness. He felt empowered, like he could do anything and everything. Death Eaters? What Death Eaters? He was Neville Longbottom and Death Eaters were no match for someone who was battling for magic, for happiness, for love,


End file.
